


where were you?

by cosmicwoosan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Crying, Depression, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sad Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 08:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20756996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicwoosan/pseuds/cosmicwoosan
Summary: Five times San wasn't there for Wooyoung when he needed him most, and the one time he was too late.





	where were you?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just... really sad I guess. To anyone who's reading this, please remember, you're not alone. Please pay attention to the tags for trigger warnings. I love you. -Athena.

**1**

To say Wooyung hated himself was a bit of an understatement. If there were synonyms to describe something even worse than hate, he would use them all. Despise. Loathe. Abhor. Detest. He hated himself, and all of the above.

It wasn't even just his appearance. The hatred ran deep in his veins, circulated throughout his entire body as his blood carried it to his bones, his brain, all of his vital organs. Part of him wished that hatred could kill, so that his very own blood would stop his heart. It felt so constricting anyway, living in his own body. Sometimes he wished he could just leave it, float above it as a ghost or a spirit or whatever, but then he was brought back to the reality, that being he was alive, breathing, when he didn't want to be.

A lot of nights, he spent on his bathroom floor, knees drawn to his chest, hot tears painting his face. His disgusting face. He couldn't even look at himself, but there were times where he purposefully did, just so he could fuel his own hatred for himself.

It was both sadistic and masochistic at the same time. Disgusting.

Everything was wrong with him. He hated it. Everything. Him.

His hand was shaking as he reached for his phone, nearly knocking it over from its place on the sink from how much he was trembling. With unsteady fingers, he called San, the one person who made him feel like maybe he wasn't a complete abomination, that he was normal, not some sadistic-masochistic-disgusting freak who couldn't even function straight.

"Hey, it's San. Can't get to the phone right now, but leave your name and number and I'll try to get back to you when I can!"

Wooyoung hung up.

Right, San. He was everything that Wooyoung wasn't; attractive, polite, worthy. Normal. Extraordinary, even. He was the light of Wooyoung's life, but Wooyoung wasn't his.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why the hell would San even want to talk to you?" Wooyoung muttered to himself, fingers digging into his scalp as he yelled, just _yelled, _into his empty apartment. It echoed off the tiles, sending it straight back to his ears that he wished he could just cut off. "You're such a fucking freak. Just stop. _Stop_."

He was breathing hard, his chest was on fire, and he would do anything to stop it.

It wasn't like he cared that much anyway.

It was just a pain in the ass to clean up.

☂

**2**

San was a busy guy. He had a steady job, which meant a steady income. He had some friends, and he went out fairly often. He was very well off for someone his age. People would say he was happy, even. Which, yes, he was. San was happy. He loved his friends, his home, hell, even his job. He loved his _life._

Wooyoung was a good friend. The two didn't hang out in public that often, since Wooyoung was a bit more introverted than San, but San didn't mind at all. It was a nice break from the chaos that an extrovert could experience, what with his coworkers asking him to cover for him, if they wanted to hit up a club, et cetera. Sometimes, San liked to be simple and stay in and watch TV with one of his good friends.

They'd met in high school, when both of them were young and dumb and had none of their shit figured out. If San was honest, he still didn't have all of his shit figured out, but he was getting there. Wooyoung, on the other hand... he needed a little push. He was on his own in an apartment that was a little run down, but he made it work. He worked a simple job and had a high school diploma under his belt. He could go places.

San worried about Wooyoung a lot. His younger friend was a little... unpredictable, sometimes. There were times where San had to calm him down because he'd go on rants about how much he hated his life, where he'd beat himself up with his own words until San thought there was literally nothing else that he could say, but he _always _had something bad to say about himself. San heard it all, and he was there with Wooyoung through it all.

Sometimes, it was a little exhausting, but it was Wooyoung. A good friend, maybe even his best friend. Someone who liked him, not just for the sake of climbing the promotional ladder at work or because they wanted somebody to drag along to a club. Wooyoung was nothing like his coworkers.

Wooyoung was a genuine friend. San would probably do anything for him.

Sadly, though, because San was a busy guy, he couldn't always interact with Wooyoung as much as he wanted to. There were many times where he considered asking Wooyoung to be his roommate, but there was something in him that told him that maybe they wouldn't be a good fit to live together, not when Wooyoung stayed indoors most of the time and San was out and about at work and doing whatever. Instead, he settled for texting or calling Wooyoung every night or every other night, or whenever he could.

He called Wooyoung whenever he could.

Wooyoung called him one night, but he was staying late at work. His boss had a strict policy against phone usage, so answering him wasn't an option. He'd do anything for Wooyoung, but he had a job to look after. Reluctantly, he pressed the red button, and opted for sending him a quick text that said _sorry, at work, ttyl_

_ok, sorry for bothering you_

They ended up keeping San much later than he anticipated, and by the time he got out, his eyelids were heavy and his feet felt like they were made of cement. He was so ready for bed, and completely forgot to call Wooyoung back.

_Sorry for bothering you _was something Wooyoung said a lot. San always smiled at him reassuringly, telling him that there was no way he could ever bother him because everything he did was good. That Wooyoung was a good person. San wanted Wooyoung to know that within himself, and if he couldn't, he at least wanted Wooyoung to know that _he _thought that of him. Yes, Wooyoung was a good person. A little shy and aloof at times, but he was a good person. He was _real. _He liked San for him, not anything else.

San was glad to have someone like Wooyoung in his life.

He just forgot to call Wooyoung back sometimes, but he had full faith in Wooyoung. Wooyoung would be okay on his own.

☂

**3**

Wooyoung was screaming. His throat burned. His fingers dug so hard into his pillow that he could feel his nails pressing into the palms of his hands. Sick. He was so sick. Sick of everything, everyone, _himself. _He didn't want to be himself anymore. He didn't want to _be._

There were tears and snot and spit all over his pillow cases, a mess of fluids that he wished his body would just _stop _producing because it just kept showing him that he was _alive. _He didn't want to be. He wanted his body to shut off. He didn't want to cry or see or hear or anything. He wanted it all to stop.

Everything around him was screaming that he was alive. With a weary hand, he reached over to his nightstand, opened the drawer and pulled out his beloved blade, the one thing that made him feel that maybe he wasn't alive, because no one _alive _would ever do this to themselves. No one with a right head on their shoulders would slice their skin open on _purpose _and then hide it from everyone the next day.

He felt like a fucking psychopath.

Who the fuck does this?

Not San. No, San was a clean man without a sin on his back. He had a prestigious past, his life so far a clean state, and it would probably remain that way.

It was not that way for Wooyoung. His life was as much of a mess as his hips and thighs were. There was no way he could escape. It was like he was in a hole made of glass; he could try to climb it, which would be impossible, or he could try to break through it, in which case, he would be left bleeding.

That was what he was doing. Bleeding.

It all reminded him he was alive.

He called San again. He silently begged for him to pick up, his fingers bloodied and wrinkled. Now there was blood on his sheets. Great.

"Hello?'

"H-Hey, San." Wooyoung tried his best to sound normal.

It seemed to work. "Oh, hey, Woo! What's up?"

"U-Um. I just—"

"Oh, hang on a second—Mingi! Get down from there!" San laughed, and Wooyoung heard some sort of crash in the background. "Sorry, Woo. I'm kind of at a little party right now. I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"Oh, um, okay," Wooyoung said, his voice small and heart feeling like it just fell one hundred stories onto solid concrete. "S-Sorry for bothering you."

"It's okay, Woo! You don't bother me, you know that."

Except he didn't.

Wordlessly, Wooyoung hung up, leaving a bloody fingerprint on screen of his phone before he hurled it at the wall. He hoped it shattered just like his heart, so that he would never have to call San again.

Except he really hoped it didn't. He wanted San to call him back.

He didn't wait for San to call him back, because San probably wouldn't call him back. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't. San was about as unpredictable as the weather, but he always felt like an umbrella to Wooyoung. San was Wooyoung's umbrella.

Sometimes, though, umbrellas don't work. Not when a storm is so strong that it destroys everything around it.

Wooyoung felt like a storm. A category five hurricane that wrecked everything in its path, leaving hundreds of thousands in misery and pain. But that was what Wooyoung was as well, the people left heartbroken after a storm.

Wooyoung was the storm and the debris after it.

He was everything he hated.

He fell asleep, telling himself he'd deal with his slit thighs and bloodstained sheets in the morning. He fell asleep expecting that San wouldn't call him back because he was having fun, and why would anyone want to sacrifice their fun for him? He wasn't anything special to be remembered. He understood why San forgot to call him back half the time. He wasn't worth remembering.

He understood. San probably secretly hated him.

But here's the thing: San could hate him all he wanted. San could rip his heart out, step on it, kick it in front of an oncoming train, break every single bone in his body, and Wooyoung would _still _ask how high he should jump.

San was the relief from the storm. San was the sun that shines so brightly after a storm passes. He was the one who showed Wooyoung slivers of life and its beauty, _sometimes, _if Wooyoung could just stop seeing clouds.

Everything was dark and cold around him. Sometimes, San wasn't even enough.

He hated that. He hated himself for making San be something he probably didn't want to be. San was always meant for bigger and better things, not being dragged down by someone who couldn't go a night without crying on his bathroom floor, bleeding everywhere and leaving all sorts of stains wherever he went. He was such a goddamn _nuisance, _and he couldn't stand it.

San didn't call him back. For some reason, he was relieved.

Maybe San was finally starting to see him for what he truly was. A perfect, no-good waste of time.

Maybe this was meant to be. After all, San was better than him in every single way. San shouldn't be in his life. He found himself praying, despite not even believing in any sort of higher power, that San left him, so he could die knowing that nobody was there to care.

It was so fucked up. Why would anybody do such a thing? But Wooyoung had to remind himself, _he _was fucked up, everything was wrong with him, and he just wanted to die guiltless, in peace. Maybe, just maybe, knowing that San wasn't there for him anymore would allow him to do so.

☂

**4**

San felt guilty a lot. He knew he should spend more time with Wooyoung, but with the company's newest endeavor, the majority of his schedule was taken up by work-related things, and he didn't even have that much downtime to himself. Hell, he could barely spend a day in his apartment. He slept and ate breakfast there, but that was about it. He was at work the rest of the time.

He barely even had time to hang out with his other coworkers and friends. He was beginning to feel it too; his body was aching, a lot more sluggish than usual, and despite being exhausted, he found himself unable to sleep at night.

When the company's project finally ended, San finally felt like he could take a breath. When he got home, it was nearing one in the morning. He threw his bag on the ground, kicked his shoes off, and collapsed on his living room sofa.

Then, his phone rang.

Wooyoung's name lit up on the screen. He squinted at it before pressing the green button. "Hello?"

"Hey, San, um—"

"Wooyoung, I'm really sorry, but can this wait until tomorrow? I'm so fucking tired, work has really been kicking my ass lately."

There are a few seconds of silence, but San could hear Wooyoung breathing. "Y-Yeah! Sorry for bothering you."

San scoffed. "Jesus, Wooyoung, stop saying that. You don't bother me."

"I'm sorry," Wooyoung said hurriedly, his voice cracking slightly.

"You okay?" San asked, his eyes already beginning to close.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

San didn't think twice about it. His brain was too fried. "Alright. Try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay. Goodnight, San."

"Night, Woo."

He hung up, and went to sleep.

☂

**5**

Wooyoung was always surprised that no one heard him screaming. It made him wonder if he even had neighbors. Granted, he always screamed into something, whether it was his pillow or his arm as he bit down on it so hard it bled, but still, with how often he screamed at night, he was surprised no one called the cops.

He was surprised, but kind of glad.

Tears were not a new feeling to him. He always welcomed them since they came so often. For some reason, however, there weren't any this time around.

Water covered every part of his body, his bathtub filled to the brim. He sat there, his face and body completely still as he breathed, in and out, wondering if time was still passing, if the world was still rotating on its axis, if there were people on the other side of the bathroom wall who could hear how he was silently begging to die.

_Of course there aren't, idiot. You're not saying anything. How the fuck is anyone supposed to hear you?_

He was screaming. He was begging someone, _anyone _(San), to save him.

With his good arm, he reached down to where his phone lay cracked and bloody on the floor, unlocked it, and called San.

"Hey, it's San. Can't get to the phone right now, but leave your name and number and I'll try to get back to you when I can!"

"H-Hey, San. It's me, Wooyoung. I-I'm calling b-because I... I'm so s-cared."

He was hiccuping his words, tears welling up in his eyes, but he couldn't tell if they were of desperation or relief.

"I-I guess, maybe you... don't c-care anymore," Wooyoung went on, panic beginning to settle in. His left arm was beginning to throb. "Which is to-totally fine. I get it. I, um, w-wouldn't care about me, either. I don't, actually. Ha."

He sniffled, but swallowed nothing. His chest tightened.

"Maybe I'm gl-ad you don't care a-anymore. Because now... I-I can go. A-And there won't b-be anybody to remember me."

He sat there for a few seconds, blinking away the tears as numbness filled his fingertips.

"Y-You know what, San?" He laughed, but it was empty. "Y-You know it's bad w-hen you don't w-want people to remember you."

_That was it. He didn't want people to remember him._

"I-It's okay, though. I can die now, r-right? And nobody... nobody will remember me."

Shit.

"I'm s-so sorry, San." Wooyoung's fingers were beginning to feel like ghosts, like they weren't part of him anymore. _He_ was beginning to not be a part of him anymore. "P-Please, don't forget about me."

His fingers evaporated, and his phone dropped into the crimson-filled water, sinking down to the bottom where it would rest, just like him.

☂

**-1**

There is no way San can forget about Wooyoung.

There's no way he can forget Wooyoung's last words, terrified and conflicted with impending death and the weight of his mistakes.

There's no way he can forget the way he'd shot up at the first syllable of Wooyoung's message.

There's no way he can forget the way he'd called the police as soon as his message cut off and got into his car, heart beating out of his chest as he sped down the highway at a hundred miles an hour.

There's no way he can forget kicking down two doors to get to Wooyoung's lifeless body that had been soaking in a tub full of water and his own blood.

There's no way he can forget the phone, that _goddamn phone._

If he'd just picked up. Talked to him. Listened.

No. San couldn't even do a simple task such as that. He's a fucking failure. He'd _failed _his best friend.

And how _dare _his best friend's words be "don't forget about me" when he'd forgotten him so many times before, times where he could've called back but didn't because of stupid reasons, because what's a more important than helping a friend? Saving his life? San can't think of a single thing.

San wishes Wooyoung would've slapped the word 'again' onto his last words, because San would make damn sure that it wouldn't happen again. He'd answer every single one of Wooyoung's calls, talk to him as much as he needed to until Wooyoung falls asleep, until he feels like his body would melt into a puddle of exhaustion and lethargy if that meant he could keep Wooyoung in his life.

Except he can't. He _can't _forget about Wooyoung now. Because now he _can't _make sure that he picks up again. He _can't _make sure that he talks to Wooyoung into ungodly hours of the night, telling him all the words he needs to hear until he doesn't want to hear them anymore.

But San thinks to himself, Wooyoung's last wish was finally granted, his final call, the last time he ever had to beg for for help without actually saying it. Wooyoung didn't have to call him anymore. He didn't have to be forgotten anymore.

No. There's no way San could ever forget about Wooyoung now.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most angsty thing I've written in a while. It felt weird revisiting familiar feelings. I cranked this one out in two hours. Go figure.
> 
> If you've struggled with depression, self-harm, anxiety, and/or suicidal thoughts, please seek help. You're not alone.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmicwoosan)   
[cc](https://curiouscat.me/cosmicwoosan)


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